Give me therapy
by dicks.out.for.kyman
Summary: 4 white walls. 4 boys. 4 sets of problems. Life is never easy, as a child nor an adult. Four adults find themselves at the lowest points in their life and instructed to attend group therapy sessions. With a well qualified therapist, equal amounts or difficult problems, what could go wrong?


The place reeked of hospital even before Stan had entered the designated room. The white walls matched the white floor that blended in with the white hallway. The only colour brought to his vision was posters about no smoking in this area so even they weren't brightening the mood.

Stan was only 20 when he was told by his doctor that therapy would help deal with his demons, but he doubted it would help. He didn't see he had a problem, who would? He stood still in his red poof ball hat and a plain grey top. He wasn't wearing anythingspecial, he wasn't anything special.

3 knocks.3 deep breathes. Enter

Stan found himself looking at a circle of chairs which all but one was filled. The room was even more anxiety provoking then the hall, and it certainly matched the plain boring white theme the hall had had.

5 chairs. 4 were taken, and it didn't take Stan long enough to figure out the last was for him. One has a well-dressed gentlemen with his legs crossed in it and a clipboard on his lap, Stan knew this was the counsellor. The man has a well cut, grey tinted hair and a bit of stubble decorating his chin. He wore a plain white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and the collar was held together with a stripped pink tie that went blue, pink, then purple, in that order. His trousers were a faded black, and his shoes looked newly polished. The male on the conciliar's left was overweight and had a similar hat to his own. It was a light blue, with the trim and bobbled coloured baby yellow. Brunette hair laid visibly under the hat which looked well looked

body was covered by a thin looking red jacket, which seems awfully bright to Stan. He had brown chinos over those his thick thighs, and a pair of crimson sneakers on his feet. Stan's eyes moved to the next and was greeted with the opposite to the previous two. The slim blonde hair male looked visibly greasy and dirty yet still all the while friendly. He flashed Stan a smile, exposing roughly 3 teeth missing from his once set of 20. His stained orange hoodie was unzipped and revealed a white t-shirt with some random whore on. The jeans on his legs were ripped in various places and Stan failed to know if they were meant to be that way or not. His feet wore something that resembled shoes but the amount of holes and scuffs made it impossible to recognise them. An empty chair was next to the blonde boy, and Stan knew he would take his place in the circle of madness there. Lastly, a firey red head sat with his arms crossed. He looked just a fraction more petite then the rest, and he honestly didn't look like he belonged there at all. His hair slipped out of the green fluffy hat it was held prison under, and his cheeks were dotted with slight freckles. He wore a navy blue top with the words 'LEVI' imprinted on it. His skinny little legs were covered by a pair of light blue denim jeans and dark green trainers were tied on each of his feet.

"Oh hello Stanley" spoke the counsellor, "thank you for joining us. I know this must feel awkward for you, but I assure you that is how everyone else is feeling." He voice was drenched in pity and fake empathy that made Stan feel like

he wanted to hurl. But he took his seat in the chair, not wanting to cause a scene. He wrote some things down on his clipboard before looking up at the 3 males looking in his direction, except Stan who looked at the floor, and spoke again. "Let's start with some introductions shall we? Kyle, why don't you tell us a bit about yourself."

The ginger, who Stan know knew to be named Kyle, held his arms tightly crossed. He looked like he wanted to explode, like he was holding so much in. Kyle stood up from his seat, arms still crossed, and took a deep breath.

"Um, my names Kyle Broflovski, I'm 19 years old, I'm Jewish," this led the chubby brunette to snigger and the counsellor sent a glare his way, "and I'm here for anger management purposes and slight OCD." And that he sat, returning

to the exact position he was before standing. Stan got the dying urge to hug the ginger, but after hearing he would flip out with anger or cry over something Stan would never understand, he refrained himself.

"I'll go next", spoke the counsellor before standing, "my name is , I work in the field of group therapy for adults and elders, I'm 47 years of age and I've been doing this kind of therapy for over 25 years." He gave us all a pleasant yet all the

same fake smile before sitting again with his legs crossed. Stan had already grown to hate this man's guts and hated the fact that not only would this not benefit him, but the fact the other males would be dragged down behindhim. Next stood the chunky brunette.

"I'm Eric Cartman, 21 years old, don't really want to be here" Cartman's hands travelled to his pockets and he moved his head so he was not facing the group, "and I'm here for anger management, binge eating disorder and maybe psychosis." Cartman's face stayed emotionless and the ebony haired male was a little taken back. The brunette did appear to be one with any eating problems, nor did he appear to look out of it as someone stereotypically does with psychosis. He did look like a fella

who would get agitated easily, Stan would give him that.

"Alright" came from the blonde with almost laugh to his breath. He stood and stuffed his hands into his pockets, slightly swinging on the heels of his feet. "Names Kenny McCormick, I'm 21 years old so I'm legal. I'm all single if anyone wants to hit me up" he let out a breathily snigger at his own statement, "and I'm here for a sex addiction and post trauma" He smiled again and let his eyes roll own to look at the floor before rubbing the back of his neck. "And I'm also here for various suicide attempts" he spoke faster, almost like the words were embarrassing to even get out. This too surprised Marsh. The boy looked so cheerful and appeared happy in himself, he didn't look like someone with a want for death. Not to sound rude, but McCormick did come across with the label of 'sex addict'. He blonde and down and looked up at the ceiling.

5 people. 4 had spoken. 1 was left.

Stan took 3 deep breaths and stood. His mind flooded with anxiety provoking thoughts.

"S-Stan Marsh, I'm 20, here for a drinking problem and depression." He spoke quietly and quickly. He never believed it when the specialists would tell him he was an alcoholic and heading down a dark road. He didn't believe a lot of things anymore. He sat back down,

wanting to curl into a ball and forget this stupid therapy idea.

The counsellor jotted more notes down and Stan wanted the pens every move. His mind was racing and his palms began to sweat. The others looked like they felt the same.

"Good good" spoke, "thank you everyone for cooperating. Now therapy won't be an easy thing, but if we all stay open minded and non judgemental, then this will help you all with your individual issues." He looked down at his notes, then returned to speaking. "Why don't we start with an exercise." We all stayed silent. "The exercise involves everyone making a joint poster with inspirational quote or phrases that get us through tough times."

He stood up, placing the clipboard down on his chair, and moved to a small cupboard in the far corner. He opened it, pulled out various things, then closed it. Walking back and placing the objects in the middle of the circle, he retook his seat and awaited them to start.

Stan looked up at the other males reactions. 4 pairs of eyes scanning the others reactions. 3 quick breaths came from Stan's lungs. 2 sweaty palms clasped together by the ginger. 1 lip bite being done by the blonde. 0 fucks given from the brunette.


End file.
